All That Shimmers
by Luminous Song
Summary: Nate and Serena will always be beautiful little fools. Chuck and Blair come to realize that this is not necessarily a bad thing. A series of interconnected one-shots.
1. loving you is cherry pie

_Nate and Serena will always be beautiful little fools. Chuck and Blair come to realize that this is not necessarily a bad thing. A series of interconnected one-shots._

**Notes:** This chapter deals with the early years, because who can resist picturing the Non-Judging Breakfast Club as cute little kids? I know I can't. Reviews greatly appreciated.

**All That Shimmers**

_**chapter one: loving you is cherry pie**_

Faint and flickery September light pours into the small, exclusive kindergarten. Three pairs of footsteps echo throughout the marble-accented corridor: the click-clack of Balenciaga heels, purposeful and sharp; the dull pad of shiny leather Mary Janes, struggling to keep pace; and, lastly, falling slightly behind the other two, a servant's soft, unobtrusive tread.

"Am I late?" Blair asks her mother. No one else is in the hall. She envisions a bespectacled, stern-faced matron doling out punishment in a voice dry as reeds. A ruler to the wrist, maybe, or paddles? Will she have to clean chalkboards for a month? The older girls, the daughters of other society wives, have filled her head with all sorts of horror stories.

"Don't be ridiculous," says Eleanor, brisk and tight-lipped. "Waldorfs are never late." Glancing down, she gently slaps away Blair's frantic hand. "Waldorfs don't scratch themselves, either. Stop that."

"It's itchy," Blair whines. The puffed sleeves of her pale peach Dior frock are edged with lace that prickles the sensitive skin on her upper arms.

"Control yourself." Eleanor in her tailored red Chanel suit and sheer stockings is firmer than any teacher can ever hope to be. "Dorota has ointment in her bag. And _don't _sulk." She sighs at the child's mutinous expression and pushes open one of the many doors lining the hallway. "Honestly, Blair, when will you start acting like a lady?"

The classroom is chaos, a scene of windows and rubber play-mats and colorful posters and scattered toys. Elegantly-dressed women, pearls around their necks and hair swept into neat chignons, converse among themselves as their offspring mill about, running, shrieking, roughhousing, under the eagle eyes of silent, black-clad nannies. Blair catches her breath at the exhilarating newness of it all. In one corner, a girl turns cartwheels as her friends applaud in delight, dainty skirts tossed over her head, bare legs in the air. Blair wants to tug at her mother's sleeve and point out that _that _girl isn't acting like a lady, either, but Eleanor has already started fluttering in the direction of an acquaintance, leaving Blair no choice but to follow.

"Lily!"

"Oh, _Eleanor!"_

Blair observes through the thick veil of her lashes as the women embrace and bestow each other with cheek kisses, exchanging breezy declarations of "_So _good to see you" and "It's been _such _a long time." She memorizes this portrait of airy grace, this rush of expensive perfume, this dance of French-tipped fingernails and red lips and pleasant words, captures it in her mind as something to emulate and aspire to, the manner in which she will greet the friends she will have in the future.

Lily raises her blonde head and calls to a girl skipping rope. "Serena!" The girl stops, rolls her eyes and dutifully comes over. When she nears, Blair is struck by only one word: perfection. It is what Eleanor uses to describe an expertly-arranged bouquet of roses or a pretty wedding cake, it is _this _girl, with her fine-boned features and flawless skin and mass of long, heavy hair gleaming like burnished gold in the sunlight pooling in through the windows. She reminds Blair of Barbie dolls and glossy supermodels and summer breeze, all rolled into one tall, lanky package dressed in powder blue.

"This is your daughter?" The wonder in Eleanor's voice causes a hollow sensation to bloom in the pit of Blair's stomach. "Lily, she's _gorgeous."_

Lily smiles with quiet, tender pride. "Serena, this is Eleanor Waldorf, and…" She trails off inquiringly, looking at Blair, who fidgets under the perusal.

"Oh, where are my manners!" Eleanor bursts out, laughing softly. "This is Blair."

Blair sinks into her most charming curtsy, which she practices fervently and often, sneaking a glance at her mother in the hopes of catching a glimmer of approval. But Eleanor's attention is focused on Serena, entranced by this golden child, who doesn't curtsy, choosing instead to stick out a hand.

"How do you do," Serena says.

Eleanor barely raises an eyebrow at this social gaffe, and they shake. The beautiful are easily forgiven their mistakes. Serena's lovely, brilliant grin perfectly complements the sparkle in her porcelain blue eyes, and Blair is immediately conscious of her own shortness, the fat sprinkled on her cheeks and her itchy sleeves.

"Let's play!" Serena exclaims happily, grabbing Blair's hand, and Blair, usually wary of physical contact, is caught, entangled in a web of warmth and light. She allows Serena to lead her away, and never looks back.

* * *

Days later, and Blair thinks she should have gotten used to Serena's beauty by now, but it still manages to catch her off-guard; it's more alluring than annoying when Serena puts a hand on one bony hip and stamps her foot, lip curled in petulant disdain at the jigsaw puzzle pieces scattered on the table.

"I'm _bored," _she complains, and it is honey and air, a young voice, hinting at the jewel tones that would make men of all ages fall at her feet in the years to come.

"Shut up," Blair snaps. "This is fun."

"No, it's _not, _B."

Although she gives every impression of concentrating on the puzzle, Blair surreptitiously observes the way Serena's tilted her head, causing her glorious hair to spill over one shoulder in a golden waterfall. She's _exquisite,_ and Blair wonders with a faint tinge of irritation if she's doing it on purpose.

"I'm playing something else," Serena declares firmly.

Blair smirks. "With who?"

Serena looks around, taking in the other children, all absorbed in their own little cliques. Scattered around the room, heads bowed close together over picture books or other puzzles. There, three girls playing with a dollhouse, closed off from the outside world. Here, two boys in deep conversation over a Rubik's cube. Serena opens her mouth, and then snaps it shut.

Blair smiles sweetly. "Help me finish this puzzle, S."

"You're mean," Serena sighs. Instead of sitting down, she moves to peer over Blair's shoulder, frowning at the incomplete picture of a castle. "You know I can't figure this stuff out."

"All it takes is practice," Blair replies serenely, fitting a corner piece into place. "I like these games. They make me think."

"Why would you like games that make you _think?"_

"Why wouldn't I?"

Serena leans in closer. "My daddy told me I'm beautiful enough to never have to think," she confides in a stage whisper, blue eyes wide.

"That's not true," Blair retorts with perhaps more vehemence than is warranted. "Even beautiful girls have to use their brains." But the afternoon sun illuminates Serena in its waxy rays, she's all pale skin and cheekbones, and who needs to be smart when you can look like _that? _Blair swallows the unexpected lump in her throat.

* * *

Eventually, one of the boys playing with the Rubik's cube walks over to Blair and Serena's table, dragging his friend behind him. He looks exasperated, while the friend appears to be sulking, head bowed. Blair raises an eyebrow at them. It's a trick she picked up from her mother and rehearses in front of mirrors whenever she has the chance. She's gotten quite good at it, but the boy doesn't appear to be intimidated at all.

"I'm Chuck Bass," he says without preamble, "and this is Nate Archibald. He doesn't want to do the Rubik's cube anymore, so can we join you instead?"

Blair wants to tell him off for being so forward, but, behind Chuck's shoulder, the other boy--- Nate--- raises his head, and she momentarily loses focus. With spiky sandy hair and aristocratic features, he looks like he just stepped out of a Neiman Marcus kids' catalog. She's about to speak, when she notices that his piercing blue eyes are fixed entirely on Serena, who's gazing back at him with unconcealed interest.

"You have pretty hair," Nate blurts out.

Serena smiles. Dimples and cotton-candy lips. "You have nice eyes."

"Oh, _please," _Blair mutters under her breath at the exact moment Chuck groans the same thing. They glance at each other in surprise.

* * *

Summer in the Hamptons is languid and airy, and Nate and Serena both lose their front teeth at the same time. _Of course, _Blair thinks, perhaps a tad unkindly. When her and Chuck's teeth fell out (_not _at the same time), they refused to smile for weeks, ever conscious of the gaps. Nate and Serena have no such inhibitions; theirs is a world of open-mouthed laughter and unrestrained grins; side by side, they are almost identical, the imperfection of missing teeth lost, rendered unnoticeable, dissolved in the elegance of their features and the brilliance of their hair.

All four of them are in the backyard of the van der Woodsen's summerhouse. Blair and Chuck play Monopoly while Serena coaxes bubbles from a small wand clutched in her fist and Nate leans against the porch wall, content to watch.

"Have you ever noticed how hard it is to blow bubbles with your front teeth missing?" Serena asks.

Chuck's eyes never leave the game board. "What _are _you talking about?"

"Look!" Serena puts the wand to her lips and blows. The film inside the hoop flickers, then pops; a spray of saliva lands on Nate's cheek.

"Serena, you are so_ gross!"_ Blair shrieks, but Nate, far from being angry, merely chuckles, wiping his face with his sleeve.

"You just don't know how to blow bubbles," he teases Serena.

"Do, too!" She sticks out a pink tongue. "But it's hard without my front teeth."

"I don't have mine, either, but I betcha I can still do it." Nate grabs the wand and the small bottle of bubble mixture. He is is unsuccessful, as well. Serena recoils, blinking.

"You got spit in my _eye!" _she cries as if it's the most delightful thing that's ever happened. "Give me that!" Soon enough, the attempt to blow bubbles devolves into a flimsy excuse to spit at each other, between giggles and playful shoves. It's not long before Blair is caught in the crossfire, Nate's saliva coating the tips of her hair. She screams, backing away.

Chuck emits a long-suffering sigh as he hands Blair a handkerchief. "You two are disgusting," he says shortly. "Why don't you play over _there?"_

Nate shrugs. "All right. C'mon, S." They run to the garden, under the full sun, and continue their game.

When she's done cleaning up, Blair gingerly holds out the handkerchief to Chuck. He grimaces. "That's got Nate's spit all over it. Better throw it away."

Blair shrugs and tosses the piece of cloth aside. "I think it was my turn," she says, directing her attention back to the Monopoly board. She studiously ignores the sight before her--- two tall, fair children, darting among the emerald-green bushes and flowerbeds blazing with riotous bursts of fiery colors, under a clear blue sky. The sunlight blurs their hair into haloes and glints off the rainbow-edged bubbles that they finally manage to produce, floating dreamily in the air. Nate and Serena laugh and touch and spit and wrestle, and eventually they both end up rolling on the grass, tickling each other, getting dirt and grass stains all over their clothes. They don't even look repulsive doing it; they're too beautiful for that, too golden and blue-eyed and summer-skinned.

"I don't like this season, you know," Chuck says quietly.

Blair looks up at him across the board. "Really."

"Yeah. I think it's the heat. I hate it." Something shifts in the usually impassive expression on his face, lightens and softens. "I prefer autumn."

Blair smirks. Just a little, but enough. "Me, too."


	2. thought this wouldn't hurt a lot

_Nate and Serena will always be beautiful little fools. Chuck and Blair come to realize that this is not necessarily a bad thing. A series of interconnected one-shots._

**Notes:** More of the early years, because, like almost everyone who reviewed the previous chapter, I can't get enough of mini-NJBC. This one goes out to River Phoenix, a beautiful soul who left too soon. Reviews greatly appreciated. 

**All That Shimmers**

_**chapter two: thought this wouldn't hurt a lot**_

Dress-up is Blair's favorite game, made all the more enticing now that she has a real live Barbie doll in the form of Serena to play with. Here is the scene, painted in childhood's luxuriant daylight: two girls, silhouetted against the window, in a bedroom of pink satin sheets and white lace curtains, long strings of pearls clasped between their hands. One is tall and blonde; the other shorter, with rich brown curls. Both are clad in fur coats and hats and shoes several sizes too big, raided from Eleanor's walk-in closet.

"I think _you _should wear it," says Serena. "Pearls suit you."

"You really think so?" Blair bites her lip, anxious, because pearls are pretty and Serena is pretty. "They might look better on you."

"Nah. You'll be just like that girl in your favorite movie." Serena's fingers flutter as she tries to put a name to a face. "You know, the one in the black dress."

"Audrey Hepburn?" Blair says wonderingly, hope--- vile, brutish thing!--- blossoming like fragile silver flowers somewhere in the depths of her heart.

Serena's brow smoothens, relieved of burden. "Yes, exactly! Your hair is dark like hers, too. We could put it up…" She taps her dainty chin, studying her friend. "Although I think yours looks better loose." She slips the pearl necklace over Blair's head. "Voila! Go on, have a look."

Blair carefully toddles over in her mother's heels to the full-length mirror. What does she see, in the polished glass with the gilded frame? A girl in gray sable and jade silk, the luster of her pearl necklace matching the sheen of lips coated in dark cherry gloss, a wide-brimmed ivory hat perched on top of her head. She looks grown-up and glamorous, like the daughter Eleanor would be proud of, like the person Nate would love.

"Told you so!" Serena declares happily, joining her in front of the mirror. And, as simple as that, the butterflies in Blair's soul shrivel, turn into worms. She might appear beautiful on her own, but next to Serena she is a caricature. The afternoon light weaves into long-lashed blue eyes and golden tresses that spill onto a black fur coat over a bright yellow cocktail dress, ending just above the knees of slender legs. Blair is not Audrey Hepburn, because it's Serena, Serena, _Serena _who looks like a movie star.

Somewhere in the distance a doorbell chimes, and the reflection--- the _dream--- _of Serena in the mirror moves away with an exuberant cry of, "The boys are here!" She kicks off Eleanor's heels and runs out of the room on lithe, bare feet. Blair follows, but not before changing into her ballet flats, not before gazing at her likeness--- gorgeous once more, without Serena's to be compared to--- and touching her cheek in the cold glass surface, a gesture of farewell.

It's the last time Blair Waldorf ever plays dress-up.

* * *

"Hi, guys!" Serena exclaims with a cheerful little wave when they meet the boys in the foyer.

Nate grins at the sight of her, barefoot in a fur coat. "Hi, you look pretty." Blair takes one look at the unabashed admiration on his face and thinks she will be sick.

Serena doesn't blush and stutter at the compliment, as Blair would, because unlike Blair she's used to hearing things like that. She takes it in stride, dropping a kiss on Nate's cheek. "Thanks, Natie!"

"What's the occasion?" Chuck asks, eyebrow raised, in a shadow of the lazy drawl that will be his trademark in the years to come.

"Blair and I are playing dress-up. Wanna join?"

Chuck grimaces. "Are you _kidding?"_

Blair is frozen in embarrassment. She should have reverted to her normal attire; what do boys understand of girls' games, after all? She's painfully aware of how she must look, in makeup and pearls and fur, stupid and cartoonish. For a moment she is tempted to cancel the day's affair, wanting nothing more than to crawl back to her room and remain there, but Nate says he's hungry, and Dorota leads him to the dining room, Serena in tow. They babble happily about which flavor of Pop-Tarts is better, their retreating backs moving through pools of the afternoon sun that highlights their sharply exquisite profiles, turned to each other, two similar pairs of blue eyes sparkling at the contact.

Chuck studies Blair solemnly. Her nerves tremble. In her current state of mind, she is absolutely certain she will physically hurt him if he makes a disparaging remark.

"If you wore black, you'd look like Audrey Hepburn," Chuck says at last.

Blair is startled into a laugh, and it is sudden and sweet and short-lived, like the flash of pearls in a mirror, like all the best joys she's ever known.

* * *

The years pass, and, in the cinema, taste of popcorn in her mouth, a layer of oil and salt and butter coating her tongue, the cold from the air-conditioning units eats away at her abdomen. She doubles over as the cramps come, in that world of shadows and flickering hues, and Serena, seated next to her, turns, blue-lit face creased with worry.

"You okay, B?" Serena whispers.

Blair bites her lip. She feels queasy; something dark and terrible has been unleashed deep in the recesses of her own body, bringing with it a dull, hollow pain. "Bathroom, please." She winces at the vulnerability in her voice.

They make hushed excuses to Chuck and Nate, who are too absorbed in the comedy film to notice that something's wrong. As the two girls hurry down the aisle, Blair's aware of cool, sticky wetness down _there. _Her mind swirls in a panicked mess. Food poisoning? UTI? _Oh, please, not now, not here in public, God, this is so humiliating---_

Blair rushes into the bathroom, Serena at her heels. The latter stops short, with a gasp. "Oh!"

Blair whirls around abruptly. "What?" she hisses.

Serena stares, the harsh fluorescent lights overhead raining down in splinters on her long golden hair, making her beauty almost too sharp to look at, but the effect is ruined by the velvet softness of the half-smile that slowly curls on her lips like smoke.

"You got your period," she says, tone tinged with whimsy and wonder.

Blair doesn't know what to do. She'd always expected Eleanor's presence, when the time came, matter-of-fact yet soothing. She'd expected to feel her body change and flourish, to look at her reflection and see someone ready to take on life, no longer a child, someone all grown up.

Instead, this is what she gets: cramps in a movie-house, nauseatingly conscious of the red stains on her pleated white skirt, Serena in the bathroom, looking more like a woman than she can ever hope to be.

"Wait here," Serena instructs her. "I'll buy you napkins and a change of clothes."

Blair's throat is dry, but she manages to speak. "What are we going to tell Nate and Chuck?"

"Oh, leave it up to me. Boys will believe anything," Serena assures her, dismissing the matter with breezy confidence. She blows Blair a kiss and strides out of the bathroom, a worldly girl whose looks are out of this world in their flawlessness.

Blair locks herself in the nearest stall. Her movements are stilted; she's awkward in her own skin, numb everywhere except for the pain in her abdomen. She wants cookies and a hug, she wants lip gloss like the one Serena's started wearing. She wants to turn back time, she wants to disappear.

So this is growing up, she thinks. Feeling like you aren't.

* * *

The summer before high school, they decide to have one more sleepover. There's a ring of finality to it, because they're older now, and aware, however dimly, that the bright and heavy future stretching out before them won't look too kindly on boys and girls spending a night in the same room. Nate and Chuck bring their sleeping bags over to Blair's; Dorota makes pepperoni pizza and Rice Krispies treats. As evening descends on New York, the curtains are drawn and a disc is popped into the DVD player. _Stand By Me, _a film none of them have ever seen before--- a compromise, reached after what seemed like an hour of Nate wanting _Little Rascals _and Chuck lobbying for _The Godfather _and Blair insisting on _Casablanca._

After they'd polished off the first pizza platter, Blair frowns at the clock ticking on her bedside table. "Serena's late."

"Serena's always late," Chuck replies flippantly.

Nate is all concerned electric blue eyes. "Do you think we should call her house? Maybe something's happened."

Blair's just about to reach for the phone when Serena bursts in, a wild tangle of slender limbs and sun-kissed tresses. Her face is pale, glistening with tear tracks, her lower lip quivering. Without a word, she steps over the boys sprawled out on the floor and throws herself face-down beside Blair on the bed, shoulders shaking, sobbing uncontrollably.

They crowd around her. "S, what's wrong?" Nate asks, leaning in closer. And it's a strange thing to be entranced by, at a moment like that, but Blair can't help realizing his hair's turned darker over the years--- from a shade much like Serena's to a sandy brown--- but it still shines blond in the places where it sticks up, unruly, against the bluish light of the television screen.

Blair finds herself pulling back just the slightest bit, as if her instincts have subconsciously dictated that Nate and Serena be given space, because when the two of them are in the same room you can't help but find an angle from where you can take in the whole, grand picture, and fix it in your memory. Even Chuck has moved to perch only on the edge of the bed, as if he, too, recognizes the need for distance from the golden couple.

Serena's fingernails dig into the pillow. "My dad left today," she chokes out.

The silence that falls into the room is broken only by the voices from the television screen. Nate slips an arm around Serena, murmuring words of comfort in a voice too low--- too _intimate--- _for others to hear. She raises her head and leans into him, and Blair is probably the worst friend in the world but it's so typical and so _unfair _that Serena can still look absolutely gorgeous while crying, high cheekbones flushed pink and large porcelain blue eyes watery and gleaming, a broken angel in the TV's flickering glow.

As the movie plays in the background, Nate continues to embrace Serena, while Blair assures her that they can share _her _dad, and Chuck opines that some people just don't deserve to stay in your life. When her tears are spent, Serena speaks only once, to say that she recognizes one of the child actors in the movie. "That's River Phoenix," she tells them as the camera zooms in on the young, handsome face. "He's dead now." The four of them pile up on Blair's bed, legs brushing, heads close together. The solace of touch. They're all half-asleep as the movie draws to an end, and the voiceover declares, _"I never had any friends later on like the ones I had when I was twelve. Jesus, does anyone?" _And although they're a little older than twelve, Blair thinks, as she's about to drift off into slumber, that maybe, just maybe, he has a point.


End file.
